The Darkness
by blue.rose.spobette
Summary: Set between the ending of Mockingjay and the Epilogue.  It was months ago that President Snow was overthrown, but his loyal followers remain bent on destroying the Mockingjay.  Those closest to her will suffer most of all. P/K pairing undertones.
1. Prologue

****_**A/N:** Extended summary - slightly AU. Set between the ending of Mockingjay and the Epilogue. It was months ago that President Snow was overthrown, but his loyal Capitolist followers remain bent on destroying the Mockingjay. When she evades capture, the Capitolists will attempt to break her as best they can: Those closest to her will suffer most of all. Peeta/Katniss pairing undertones. _

* * *

><p><strong><span>The Darkness<span>**

**Prologue**

"Well, let's see it," Johanna pressed impatiently, practically reaching through Peeta's arms to take over the task. Her nails dug into his forearms as she attempted to wrestle the parcel from his grip.

"I'm getting there," Peeta said, unable to stifle an amused smile. He glanced over his shoulder surreptitiously, as if to ensure they weren't being watched. "You're sure she's not here?"

"Positive," Johanna muttered, crossing her arms in irritation. Her hair had grown back considerably, and was now a striking shade of purple. Peeta was unsure of how she attained such a color – or why – but was fascinated by it nonetheless. "I already checked upstairs, just like you told me to."

"She must be hunting," Peeta surmised.

"That's great, hope she catches a great big squirrel," Johanna quipped, sarcasm dripping heavily from her tongue. "I don't have all day, Mellark, are you showing it to me or not?"

Peeta began opening the package with a quickened pace to soothe Johanna's hostility. As he tore away the cardboard wrappings, a small velvet parcel tumbled out.

"Well…the moment of truth. Now we see if all that bread I've been sending to the Capitol was worth it."

"There are snails all over the world moving faster than you right now," Johanna insisted, grabbing the jewelry box from the dining room table. "If you're so anxious for her not to see it, you shouldn't be wasting any time."

"You're right, you're right," Peeta agreed, snagging the box back. He opened it hastily to be met with the ring he had been slaving to buy for months. The day after they had had the conversation in which Katniss expressed that loving him was real, he had gotten to work on planning for the future.

And there it was – a simple silver band, inset with the pearl he had given to her during the Quell. Sneaking it past her hadn't been easy, either – she had approached him a couple of weeks ago demanding to know where it was. He feigned innocence pretty smoothly, if he said so himself. He had convinced her that Buttercup must have gotten hold of it. With a sigh of disdain, Katniss had bought it.

"Gotta hand it to you, Mellark," Johanna began, "that's the nicest engagement ring I've ever seen."

Peeta grinned, snapping the case shut and slipping it into his pocket. "Well, here's to hoping she says yes."

Johanna rolled her eyes. "Mockingjay loves you, even if she gives you a hard time about it. If she doesn't say yes right away, she'll get around to it."

It was probably the nicest thing Johanna had ever said to him. He smiled in response. "Thanks."

"Or, you know, she'll reject you," Johanna added as an afterthought, tapping her chin pensively with her index finger. "Go to District 4…find Gale…you know, worst case scenario."

Peeta rolled his eyes. "Your moments never last long, do they?"

"What moments?" Johanna countered stubbornly, crossing her arms and peering out the window. She could see Katniss approaching the house from behind the primrose garden, a wild dog heaved over one shoulder.

"She's home," she announced.

"Oh, shit," Peeta muttered in a panic, pushing Johanna towards the back door. "You have to go."

"What? Why? You're not even going to let me say hi?"

"I don't have an excuse for why you're here yet," Peeta argued. "Go see Haymitch until I figure it out."

"Your drunk-ass mentor?" Johanna spat indignantly. "Why would I visit him?"

Peeta shrugged. "Free liquor? I don't know. I just need you to leave."

"Fine! Fine!" Johanna conceded as he pushed her out the door, slamming it in her face. He quickly ran back into the kitchen, pulling out a cutting board and butcher knife in preparation to clean Katniss's kill. With a resounding rush of shame, he realized he didn't know the first thing about hunting or what came after – he could bake, and that was about the extent of his role in the kitchen. So here he stood, his stance looking entirely staged.

No sooner than he had gotten into position, she was coming through the door. She appeared winded, but there was no look of surprise or suspicion on her face. Good. So Johanna had gotten away undetected.

"Hey," she greeted shortly with a smile, setting the dog on the countertop. She wiped her brow tiredly, collapsing on the couch to begin unlacing her boots. She studied him carefully, her eyes teasing. "You going to do that yourself, then?"

"What?" Peeta realized he was standing perfectly still, knife poised in hand. "Oh…" He sheepishly set it down.

"What were you doing?"

"Just getting everything ready for you," he replied in what he hoped was his best innocent tone. He approached the couch to take a seat beside her. "How was hunting?"

"Fine," Katniss muttered, impatiently puffing a lock of hair out of her face as she continued pulling her shoes off. "It'd be better if Gale's stupid brothers weren't scaring all the game away with their constant bickering."

Peeta chuckled. She had taken the boys under her wing when Gale left. It had been uncomfortable for him at first, but he was well aware now that they represented one of the few ties to her old life. And if it was important for her to maintain some semblance of her past – if that made her happy – well, then he was all right with that.

"Anything you need me to do to help with dinner?" Peeta inquired, slipping his hand into one of hers. Her lips tugged upward in a faint smile as she squeezed his fingers tenderly.

"Unless you're planning to make some of that cheese bread, I think we're all set."

The unwelcome tension was returning to his head as he tried to mitigate what she had said. The vision of her before his eyes began to blur slightly when she laughed, a distant echoing resonating through his brain. Like the distortion presented by talking through a tin can. She paused to study him, familiar with the look on his face that accompanied hijack images.

"Peeta?" she asked quietly, scooting closer to hold his wrists supportively.

After a few moments of deep breathing, Peeta squeezed his eyes shut tight. It seemed to calm some of the dizziness.

"Cheese bread is your favorite. Real or not real?"

"Real," Katniss whispered, reaching out to gently touch his face. He still did not open his eyes, desperate for the moment to pass. Studying the blackness behind his eyelids minimized the distractions that impeded his concentration in times like this. He leaned his cheek into her touch, bringing his hand to hers.

"I'm okay…I'm okay," he chanted, more for himself than for her. He slowly opened his eyes, grateful to see that the image of her concerned face before him was back to its normal crystal clear quality.

She smiled sadly at him, but did not question the moment. She was growing accustomed to the techniques he used to deter the darkness, as he called it. They were fewer and farther between, which meant that it was working to some degree.

"I'm going to shower before I get dinner started," she said quietly. She was backing away from him slowly, as if to ease the transition. "Can you squeeze the lemons to make fresh juice?"

He nodded resolutely, but did not say anything. She bent down to lightly kiss him on the top of his head, trying to reassure him – or herself, perhaps – that he'd be okay for a few minutes.

"You love me," Peeta murmured. "Real or not real?"

"More real each day," she stated seriously. He did not allow himself to look at her, afraid the moment would come crashing down with immediacy. He heard her departing footsteps ascending the staircase, leaving him in solitude.

He sat alone for a moment, trying to recompose his thoughts. He hated worrying her more than anything. If there was just some way to cope with the images in private – without her noticing…

The sound of running water echoed down the stairs as she turned the showerhead on. Peeta concentrated on the thrumming of the beads of water hitting the floor, letting it lull him into relaxation.

A sudden _thump!_ from the back door was the only thing that disturbed him from his reverie. He sat up straight, alert, as his blood froze in his veins. Participating in the Games resulted in persistent hypervigilance for both of them, and it had shown no signs of slowing.

He stood up carefully, trying to quell the sound of his footsteps as he crept towards the door. His eyes roved the dark entryway, trying to find any sign of abnormality or upset.

Then, without warning, a strong arm secured itself around his neck, the other stuffing a foul-smelling cloth into his face. His hands flew to the stranger's hold, digging his nails into flesh. He thrust his body backwards to ward off the attacker, but the grip was too tight to alleviate and grew only tighter the more he struggled.

The room around him was returning to the blurry state that often occurred when he was experiencing a hijack image, only this time the dark corners converged in the middle until his consciousness evaded him.

"Find the Mockingjay," was the last thing he remembered hearing before everything went black.

_**CONTINUED**_


	2. Ghosts

**THE DARKNESS**

_**And maybe I'll catch fire,  
>Something warm to hold me,<br>Something pure to burn away the darkness  
>That hides inside my mind<strong>_

_**- "Maybe I'll Catch Fire" - Alkaline Trio  
><strong>_

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER 1<strong>

Something was wrong. She had known it the moment she stepped out of the shower. An ominous silence had befallen the house, creating a heavy humming in her ears that set her on high alert.

She quickly dressed, retrieving Peeta's hunting knife from the armoire drawer. She couldn't quite place the feeling, but it was akin to the anticipation she felt when her platform ascended her into the arena. An eerie, unabated calm that preceded an inevitable blood bath.

Startled by a sudden rapping noise at her window, she pivoted on the spot, knife raised. A flash of purple through the glass calmed her considerably.

"Johanna?" she hissed, rushing to open it. Johanna was perched on the roof outside, wielding a knife of her own. "What are you doing here?"

"Get your shit and come with me," Johanna replied hastily. "Only the essentials. We don't have much time."

"What are you? – "

"They're here," Johanna said, her eyes flashing with a fierceness that Katniss recognized from the arena. It was the look that she would get before a battle.

She didn't need to elaborate – Katniss understood immediately.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she felt her adrenaline deploy throughout her body. Without another protest, she had dashed into the bathroom, attempting to erase any signs of her presence. She quickly mopped up the shower and the sink with her towel, subsequently stuffing it into the bottom drawer of the armoire. The covers of the bed were astray, indicating that she had slept here today – she swiftly corrected them. With a quick onceover, she decided the room looked nigh uninhabited.

"Let's go!" Johanna whispered urgently, glancing over her shoulder surreptitiously. If they were being watched, nobody was making any moves to stop them.

Katniss was halfway out the window before she thought of it. The locket that Peeta had given her. She reached back to hurriedly grab it from the bedside table, slinking through just as the bedroom door opened with a heavy _bang!_

Before she could react, Johanna had bodily grabbed her and was holding her against the outside paneling of the house around the corner from the window, holding a warning finger to her lips. Katniss could hear her own heart beating wildly in her ears, and hoped that the intruders could not pick up on it themselves.

There were sounds of thrashing inside – drawers being pulled away, furniture being upended. At long last, one of the strangers spoke.

"She's not here. Bed hasn't been slept in. No sign that she's been here recently at all."

Another voice, this one lower and much gruffer, released a string of curses.

"No matter," he said at last. "We have the leverage to make _her_ come to _us_."

A knot formed in her stomach instantaneously as she began to interpret his words.

"Where's the bread boy?"

"Already in transit."

"Good. She would never abandon him. When she realizes he's in captivity, she'll come for him."

In a flash of panic, Katniss began to push Johanna aside, opening her mouth to offer full negotiation. She would offer herself in place of Peeta. It was her that they wanted – not him. She couldn't let him go through that again – torture, hijacking…the idea of him suffering all over again made her heart bleed.

Johanna was quick, however. She had slammed Katniss back into the wall, clamping a heavy hand over her mouth. "Shut up!" she hissed.

Katniss struggled against her hold until the intruders retreated. Finally, after sinking her teeth into Johanna's palm, she sharply released.

"They have Peeta!" she cried quietly.

"It's too late," Johanna snapped. "You heard them – he's already gone."

With a short shove, Katniss had overpowered Johanna into a chokehold. "You knew! Why didn't you stop them?"

"It was out of my control, you psychopath!" Johanna protested. With one swift movement, she had bucked Katniss off of her. Katniss fell onto the roof, rolling a couple of feet to the precarious edge before catching herself.

"They wanted me!" she argued, struggling to control the lump of tears that had lodged in her throat. She would never give Johanna the satisfaction. "They didn't need to take him. _They want me_!"

"We don't have time for this," Johanna began impatiently, grabbing Katniss by the cuff of the collar and wrenching her upward. "Haymitch is waiting for us."

"What?" Katniss sputtered. "Where? Why?"

"He's in the woods. And if you want to save your precious lover boy, we're going to need a plan." With that, Johanna had begun to stealthily shimmy down the gutter, out of sight. Katniss barely heard her agile landing – it was quiet, much like the sound that Buttercup might make when he jumped off the couch.

"Come on!" she whispered seethingly.

Katniss inhaled sharply before following Johanna's lead. If Haymitch was privy to the situation, he would already be working on a plan for a rescue mission.

And he better have a damn good one.

* * *

><p>The first sensation he was aware of upon regaining consciousness was the pounding in his head. As though a marching band in a parade had taken up home in his skull.<p>

The floor beneath him was cold and hard. Like concrete.

Like a jail cell.

He shot up quickly, ignoring the blasting pain that came from his temples. His suspicions were confirmed – the room around him was inlaid with heavy stone, one wall consisting entirely of iron bars. Three small bed mats were scattered about, threadbare blankets in accompaniment.

His memory was flooding back. He had been captured – and the last thing he had heard…

"Katniss," he whispered suddenly, jumping to his feet. He took hold of the prison bars and began to irrationally pull at them, as though they would give way at his strength.

"Some things never change."

The new voice made him wheel around in surprise. The first thing he took note of was an unconscious Gale Hawthorne on the ground, bleeding heavily from a head wound.

The second person he saw was enough to make him think he had been hijacked all over again. This was an episode – or a nightmare – but it was not reality.

"Give me a hand, will ya?" the man asked impatiently, indicating Peeta's jacket. Peeta unquestioningly pulled it off of his body, ripping an entire sleeve from the seam to assist in creating a bandage. All-the-while, his eyes remained trained on the blond memory before him.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," the man snickered.

"Finnick." Peeta said at last. "How are you? – That's impossible. Katniss saw you die. In the tunnels."

Finnick scoffed slightly as he began nursing Gale's wound. He launched into an explanation faster than Peeta could comprehend the situation.

"Tracker jacker gas," he stated succinctly. He hastily licked one end of the torn sleeve, mopping up the blood that trickled from Gale's forehead. "They made you see what they wanted you to see."

Peeta shook his head, as if to make sense of his words. "Gas? In the tunnel?"

"Why do you think you had a hijack meltdown?" Finnick continued calmly. Gale had begun to stir slightly. "It was intended to cause hallucinations. To instill fear and panic."

His mind was swirling rapidly. "So – the muttations – they weren't even real?"

Finnick chuckled darkly. "No. They were real, all right. A real pain in my ass."

Peeta watched silently as Finnick used the sleeve to create a makeshift bandage around Gale's head. The questions were innumerous, but he could not concentrate long enough to grasp at one.

"We thought you were dead," he stated at last.

"Yeah, well. Might as well be," he muttered. Gale was muttering to himself now, approaching consciousness. "Been in this fucking place ever since."

Peeta took another look around the cell, realization dawning on him.

"We're in the tunnels."

"Bingo, Romeo."

"The reptilian muttations – how did you escape?"

Finnick took a heavy breath as he finished with Gale, leaning against the wall behind him. As Peeta's panicked heart began to calm, he began to take in the sight before him with greater detail. Finnick was no longer the handsome muscular boy that had teased Katniss at the parade. He was severely malnourished – his clothes hung from him like hand-me-downs from a much older brother. The pronounced color of his cheeks had been replaced with a sickened pallor.

He looked…tired.

"Fought them off for a minute," Finnick was saying. "The others didn't make it. Then the guards were on top of me…I was outnumbered."

A second wave of panic began sweeping through Peeta's body as he gazed around the cell again. "The tracker jacker gas…" he began quietly, "are they still pumping it in?"

The grave look on Finnick's face confirmed his suspicions. "From time to time," he said shortly. He did not elaborate.

"Shit," Peeta muttered. He had no desire to relive the same torture he had undergone before. He had made so much progress in recovering his identity. Himself. The boy that promised that the Capitol would not control him.

"They want Katniss," Finnick said. "That's why you and Gale are here. They want her to come to the rescue so that they can take her into custody."

"_Who_ wants Katniss?" Peeta demanded protectively. Hell, it didn't matter who it was – they weren't going to get her. Not over his dead body.

"They call themselves the Orthodox Capitolists," Finnick explained. "Snow's fascist followers. People who can't quite accept the fact that the order is changing." He scratched roughly at his neck, where Peeta now saw poorly-healed bite marks. Probably from the muttations. "They're trying to plan an assassination of Paylor, planning to rise to power themselves to restore Snow's administration."

"How do you know all this?" Peeta asked.

Finnick offered a sarcastic grin, but it fell short of reaching his eyes. "When you're a prisoner and you're stuck behind a wall of metal bars, they don't worry much about how much you hear."

The way in which he said it made it perfectly clear. The Capitolists never planned to let Finnick see the light of day again.

A sudden sputtering broke Peeta from his train of thought. Gale was coming to – and he was coughing heavily. Peeta hastily assisted Gale in rolling over onto his side to relieve himself of the vomit and blood that had settled in his stomach.

"What the hell happened?" he asked hoarsely, returning to the position on his back. Finnick kneeled beside him.

"They're using us to get to Katniss," Peeta declared bluntly. Dark recognition flashed across Gale's eyes.

"…the fuck?…" he muttered, sweeping one hand across his face as if to rub the rest of his unconsciousness away. With a sudden furrowing of his brow, he squinted at Finnick.

"Odair?..."

Finnick sighed irritably. "It's a long story. I promise I'll read you the cliff notes later as a bed time story." He took hold of Gale under the armpits, propping him up into a sitting position. Gale was weak – he collapsed almost immediately against the wall, taking rattling, heaving breaths.

"Where's Haymitch?" he questioned. Peeta realized with a small amount of joy that he, indeed, was absent.

"He must have gotten away," he decided. He hoped.

"So…just us?" Gale asked. He spit a loose tooth onto the ground, a second wave of bloody saliva accompanying it.

"Just us," Peeta confirmed. Maybe there were more people coming – maybe the Capitolists were continuing to add to their twisted collection. But for now, he would try to remain confident that everyone else was safe.

Gale was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. They were drooping repeatedly, as if threatening to take him under once more.

"Fight it, Hawthorne," Finnick coached. "I'm not a doctor, but I'd bet dollars to donuts that you have a concussion."

A pained look traveled across Gale's face. Though Peeta had never been quite fond of him, he felt sympathetic. Gale had clearly put up a hell of a fight before he was taken down.

"Seriously, man," Gale began again, staring at Finnick as though he had sprouted octopus legs. "How the hell are you here?"

Finnick grinned. Once again, it seemed a more hollow gesture than smiles past.

"An angel of mercy. I guess maybe there is a God."

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	3. Distortion

**CHAPTER 2**

Darkness. Sheer and utter darkness. It was the only way that Peeta could describe the ominous presence of the house as he walked in. A debilitating silence had fallen over the premises, giving the distinct implication of death and destruction.

"Katniss?" he called softly, allowing the door to close behind him. There was no response, but that didn't make any sense. She should be home by now. It had grown dark outside and most of her preferred game would be in hiding for the night.

He made his way into the kitchen, feeling his heartbeat pounding in his ears. The deafening silence in the house only made the thrumming more pronounced.

As he rounded the corner, his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. There she lay, perfectly still, swimming precariously in a pool of her own blood. Her eyes were glazed over, glassy, the fire having been long burned out. A knife had been wedged deep into her chest, as though the enemy had planted a triumphant flag of victory.

"Katniss," he breathed, dropping to his knees at her side. It didn't matter that she was gone – he attempted to revive her nonetheless. The adrenaline surged through his system, putting each of his senses on high alert. He could hear a distant howling in the distance – feel the crisp night air that had followed him in – taste the bitter rust of blood on his tongue with each breath. He pumped on her chest, leaning down periodically to breathe air into her lungs. She did not budge – he did not receive a response.

"No. No, no, no," he muttered defiantly, pressing more heavily at her sternum. He felt her ribcage crack beneath his strength, but it was a distant concern. She was not breathing.

"Katniss, c'mon!" he cried, distantly aware of the hot tears that streamed down his face. "Don't leave me! Don't go!"

Her lifeless body lay there, unresponsive, her blank eyes staring up at him in a manner that would be burned in his skull for years to come…

* * *

><p>Wild cries of grief and indignation. This was the wake-up call that Gale Hawthorne received. With a vague pounding in his head, he realized that he had mistakenly fallen asleep, despite Finnick's orders. If it were possible for one's skull to spontaneously split entirely down the middle, he would have been able to provide a first-hand account.<p>

It took a moment for him to register his surroundings once more, as well as the raucous that had awoken him. The iron bars had not budged – not that he had necessarily expected them to. Both Peeta and Finnick had given into the exhaustion, as well, and had fallen into what appeared, at first, to be a deep slumber.

Upon a second glance, he was alerted of his sore inaccuracy.

Peeta was sobbing hoarsely in his sleep. It was a quiet, haunting noise that echoed far too long against the cold walls of their cell. His face was blanched – a sickly pale – and he was covered head to toe in heavy sweat. Finnick was not far away, looking unfailingly similar.

Suddenly, Finnick released a guttural cry. Something that Gale imagined a person might do as their flesh was being ripped from their body. It caused his blood to freeze cold in his veins. Finnick was unconsciously tearing at his matted hair, bleeding from the scalp as a result. Gale hurried to his side first, glancing occasionally at Peeta to make sure he didn't need his help more, attempting pathetically to stay his hands. He grabbed both of Finnick's wrists and held fast, but was nearly bucked off in the process. Finnick was not awake – at least, not literally – but some unknown force was driving him to fight Gale's influence off.

"Finnick. Finnick!" he yelled desperately. He was practically sitting on top of him now, pinning his arms to the bed mat. Finnick thrashed beneath him, a sickening wail ripping through the stagnant air that surrounded them. And suddenly, his eyes flew open. The look of rage and fury in his eyes was unmistakable, though entirely uncharacteristic. His pupils were the size of saucers, making the entirety of both eyes a gaping black hole. He released a monstrous growl from somewhere deep in his diaphragm, baring his teeth in warning. It was as though he had been overtaken by an animal. No, not just an animal…

A muttation.

With a sick feeling of disdain, Gale realized the cause. Tracker jacker gas. Just as Finnick had said. And it was causing both Finnick and Peeta to unwillingly enter a world of simulated torture. The events would not be real, assuredly, but morbid distortions of past memories – or perhaps false plants of memories that had never occurred.

"Get a grip, Odair!" Gale said through gritted teeth, using the last amount of his strength to hold him down. "It's me! It's Gale! We've been captured, remember? We're here together, going through the same damn thing!"

"Get off of me!" Finnick cried. It was a bizarre, guttural voice. It was not Finnick's own.

"It's not real," Gale pressed. "You're hallucinating. They're torturing you. You're going to be okay."

Finnick's flailing began to slow, replaced by raspy panting. He blinked a few times, then squeezed his eyes shut.

"It's okay, man…I got you."

Finnick's ragged exhales made it sound as though his lungs had been torn to shreds by his ear-piercing screams. When at long last he raised his lids once more, the pupils instantly dilated to conventional human size.

"Gale…Gale…" he chanted to himself, as though trying to convince himself to come back to reality. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily, shaking his head. "I'm fine. I'm good."

"You sure?" Gale asked cautiously. The last thing he wanted was to release him only to be pounded into the ground.

"Yeah. Yes. Ask me anything."

The question perplexed Gale, but he obliged nonetheless.

"What was your nickname for President Snow?" he demanded.

Even through his fatigue and discomfort, Finnick managed a snarky grin. "Captain Ass Rag," he declared confidently. This was assurance enough for Gale, who was certain that the noxious gas would have made him answer quite differently. He backed away, collapsing tiredly against the wall beside Finnick's makeshift bed. Holding him down had taken all of the energy he had stored during his nap.

Finnick sat upright beside him, clapping him heavily on the shoulder. "Thanks. For pulling me back."

"No sweat," Gale replied. He chanced a glance in Peeta's direction. He, too, had returned to reality. He sat against the wall, hugging his knees protectively to his chest. His jaw was squared in determination, as if trying to rationalize all that had happened. He had a raw set of scratch marks down his cheek, and Gale realized that he must have been clawing at his own face.

"Tracker jacker gas?" Peeta muttered darkly. It came out as more of a sentence than a question. He had gone through the motions before, after all. He was familiar with the after-effects of coming to.

"Yeah," Finnick replied, his voice devoid of any emotion. The three of them sat in silence for a moment with bated breath, waiting for the wild racing of their hearts to calm.

"They made me watch as they tortured Annie," Finnick announced brashly after the pause. Both Gale and Peeta gazed at him, perplexed. "It's better to say it out loud, you know," Finnick offered. "So you can hear how ridiculous it sounds to your own ears."

Peeta nodded uncertainly. He did not appear enthusiastic to share, but exhaled heavily nonetheless before beginning. "Katniss was dead," he breathed. "Stabbed, on her kitchen floor."

A certain searing pain tore through Gale as he envisioned this hallucination. He hoped it would not stay in his head for long.

They were looking at him expectantly now. He offered, instead, a short shake of his head.

"I…I didn't see anything."

"What?" Peeta demanded incredulously. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure," Gale sputtered, feeling increasingly confused as he digested his own words. "Just – nothing happened. I woke up and you guys were freaking out."

"How is that possible?" Finnick asked, his dirt-stained brow creased in deep confusion. "It comes in directly through the ventilation system." He gestured upwards to a tiny, dust-ridden vent cover. "If we breathed it in, you would have, too."

Gale shook his head silently with a defeated shrug. They were staring at him as though demanding a more salient response. One that he did not have. They were both on their feet, hovering over him, trying to piece the puzzle together in their brains as they studied him. He felt instantaneously uncomfortable.

"I don't know what to tell you," he snapped defensively, glaring up at them. "No hallucinations. No nightmares. No nothing."

"How could it hit us and not you?" Finnick asked suspiciously. Gale was on his feet in an instant, ignoring the great deal of pain that flooded his body as a result.

"What are you saying?" he challenged darkly.

"Well, the Capitolists sure as hell don't go through it," Finnick was saying vehemently. Gale could practically see the wheels turning in his head. "They have some kind of pill they take. I've seen it. It fights off the episodes."

"Are you implying that I have something to do with this whole mess?" Gale demanded with an involuntary growl. He and Finnick were locked in a staring contest now, and he would not be the first to break contact.

"Unless…he's just immune."

Both turned to look incredulously at Peeta now, who was looking considerably more like himself with every passing moment. As the venomous gas cycled out of his system, he looked more like the baker's son that Gale had grown up with.

"Immune?" Finnick asked.

"My dad got stung by a tracker jacker once, before I was born," Peeta was explaining. His eyes were fixated somewhere else, lost in a memory that he was unearthing piece by piece. "My mom used to talk about it all the time. How he just…got up and walked away. She said it shouldn't have been possible."

"How can you be immune?" Finnick demanded impatiently.

"Blood type – genes – fucking hair color, I don't know," Peeta replied with equal volatility. "But it's the only thing that makes sense."

They had both turned to stare at Gale again. He raised a brow uncomfortably. Nobody spoke.

The silent confrontation was interrupted by a resounding _clang_! that reverberated down the passage and all the way to their cell. Peeta was at the bars in an instant, pressing his face to them in an attempt to gaze outward.

"Let us out of here!" he hollered, irrationally shaking the bars in his grasp. Despite Peeta's brute strength, the bars did not so much as wobble against his hold. They were heavily grounded.

As the figure rounded the corner, Gale jumped back involuntarily, startled. Peeta, however, held his ground, his eyes burning daggers at the hooded man.

"Open this door, you sick fuck," Peeta growled. Gale was almost certain that the distorted vision of Katniss's death had instilled this hostility in Peeta, who was unrelentingly clinging to the bars of the cell door.

The hooded figure did not reply. Instead, he shoved a loaf of moldy bread and a small bottle of piss-colored water through the narrow opening of the bars. Peeta grasped tightly onto them, as though they would be ripped from his hold if he did not. Without a word, the man disappeared.

"Oh, thank God," Finnick muttered. "I'm starving."

Peeta glanced at the tarnished bread loaf indignantly, bemused at Finnick's ability to ignore its imperfections. He had already torn off a corner of the loaf and was hungrily shoving it into his mouth. Gale could not help but stare alongside Peeta. Neither of them said anything, though, as they simultaneously studied Finnick's emaciated figure once more. He had grown accustomed to this – mold or no mold, he was eating.

Peeta hesitantly ripped a piece off for himself and handed the rest off to Gale. Gale watched out of the corner of his eye as Peeta attempted, in vain, to pick pieces of mold away. No sooner had he begun this task that Finnick was crawling to his side.

"Are you going to eat that?" he asked quietly. Gale was reminded sadly of a dog begging for scraps. It made him angry to see Finnick degraded to this level.

Peeta shook his head. He seemed to have lost his appetite. He handed his piece off to Finnick, who ravenously tore in.

"You should have had some," Gale offered bluntly. "Who knows when they'll bring more?"

Peeta offered a dark smile in response. "I'll be fine," he stated, gesturing discreetly at Finnick.

Gale found himself slightly annoyed. He remembered Katniss always trying to convince him that Peeta was the most selfless person she had ever known. He had never quite believed her. After all – how could he be so selfless if he was fighting to take her from him right under his nose?

But with a trickle of frustrated disdain, he realized that she spoke the truth. Peeta had given the first of who-knows-how-many rations to Finnick, and barely batted an eyelash in the process.

One thing was certain, Gale was sure of it: all those times Peeta had said he would die for Katniss, he had meant it.


	4. Preparation

_**A/N:** Sorry so short, but I wanted to get something out to you guys! Hope you enjoy!_

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><p><strong>CHAPTER 3<strong>

The length of time that it took for Johanna and Katniss to reach their destination may as well have been hours. Katniss's mind was racing at a million miles a minute, and she only seemed to have more questions the farther they trekked. As a result of her mental upheaval, she was sheepishly tripping over the forest floor every which way. To her defense, she was not particularly used to visiting this stretch of woodland this late at night. She usually stayed far closer to the Seam. To make matters worse, Katniss was quickly learning, much to her chagrin, that Johanna was considerably faster at navigating the area. Katniss had never been outwitted in this realm before, and found a small, competitive part of herself to dislike it immensely.

When at last Johanna led her to an abandoned cabin with a partially caved-in roof, Katniss could feel her blood beginning to boil in frustration once more. She could not help but feel entirely out of the loop, yet again. The ease in which Johanna had located the headquarters alerted her to the fact that the counterinsurgency may have been in development for longer than the half hour she had known about it.

"Nice of you to finally show up."

They had barely stepped through the doors, and already Haymitch was dripping with sarcasm. He was seated at a dilapidated desk against the far wall, hovering over what appeared to be blueprints. A mere two candles were providing his reading light, the illumination of the flames dancing across his scraggly face. Beetee was leaning against the desk thoughtfully beside him; Katniss did not even bother to ask how he had come to their aid so quickly. Instead, she was beelining for Haymitch, a panicked rage beginning to set in. She approached him from behind, and pulled him into her best headlock.

"Why the hell didn't you stop them?" she demanded with a growl. His hands immediately flew to the arm that encircled his neck, attempting to loosen her hold. Beetee and Johanna had stepped away purposefully, as if to leave the altercation to the District 12 victors. Good. Katniss preferred it that way. One-on-one.

With a swift backwards buck of his head, Haymitch made contact with Katniss's nose. Stars began to blur her vision. Instantaneously she let go and surveyed the damage. She was bleeding. Haymitch had stood up, and was now confrontationally facing her. He appeared to show no remorse for fighting back.

"I don't know about you, Sweetheart, but I'm not exactly skilled enough to take on five Capitolists by myself."

"Capitolists?" she demanded impatiently, pulling the collar of her t-shirt upwards around her nose to use as a temporary tissue.

"The people who took Peeta and Gale," Beetee explained. He was rifling manically through a stack of coffee-stained papers, attempting to locate something for his point.

"What? Gale, too?" Katniss demanded, a cold fist squeezing the blood from her heart. She had not spoken to him since their final conversation in the Capitol, which she felt suddenly guilty about.

"It's another ploy to break you," Haymitch stated. "They're hoping to get _you_ to come to _them_…To rescue your boyfriends. And then…they plan to execute you."

Instead of feeling frightened for her own life, this explanation only made Katniss angrier. "What? Why? For what purpose? Snow is gone. Coin is gone. I'm not the stupid Mockingjay anymore…"

"But that's just it," Beetee continued. "The leader that the Capitolists revered is dead. And they want to make it a point for their cause that they will not be defeated. And killing you via public execution is the best way to make that point."

Katniss narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of what they were saying. "How do you even know all of this?"

As if on cue, Beetee stopped searching, apparently having found what he was looking for.

"This – this is the information I've been collecting about them." He pushed a piece of crumpled paper in Katniss's direction. "They have Gale and Peeta, that's certain. They've been talking about it for weeks. They've spoken of a third prisoner, as well, but I haven't been able to determine his identity."

She scowled, appraising the sheet briefly.

"You've been tapping them," she surmised.

"Precisely."

"So," she said venomously, shoving the paper back to Beetee. She didn't want to read anymore. "When were any of you going to tell me about this?"

"Well, if you've noticed, you don't seem to handle it very well," Johanna said brashly, rolling her eyes.

"What Johanna means," Beetee began pointedly, "is that we felt no rush to concern you. The attack tonight took us all by surprise. It wasn't supposed to happen until weeks from now…and we had hoped to head them off. I think they discovered we were spying on them, so they used that plan as a decoy."

Katniss was fuming. She pulled her shirt away, glancing down at the fresh bloodstain. She could not bring herself to care about it much.

"It's just like the Quell all over again," she protested peevishly. "Everything happening behind my back."

"And what would you have done?" Haymitch demanded rationally, hands shoved in his pockets. "Say we told you. Say you knew since…I don't know…yesterday. How would_ you _have handled it?"

The answer was so obvious in her head that Katniss needed very little time to explain herself.

"I would have taken Peeta to District 13. Hidden out there until I could come up with a way to keep him safe."

"District 13, huh?" Haymitch challenged darkly. "You would have taken Peeta straight into enemy territory, then?"

Katniss made a distasteful face in his direction. "What?"

"Oh, well, if you had consulted _us_ before making a stupid decision like that, you would know that there is a heavy population of Capitolists in the area now." Haymitch's voice was oozing with impatience. "But, hey, since you know what's best…"

"We're wasting time," Beetee quipped, stepping between them. He faced Haymitch purposefully. "If we're going to move, we need to act _now_. They won't expect it. They don't know that we've been planning for this for months. They're probably thinking we wouldn't dare move in so fast."

"Right," Johanna agreed. She was already slinging a duffle bag over one shoulder. "Then let's go."

"Somebody go fetch the Hardy Boys from the back and we'll be on our way ," Haymitch added.

"The what?" Katniss demanded, looking to Beetee for explanation. He seemed to be the only one who was actually being of any help to her.

"Rory and Vick."

"Gale's brothers?" she spat. "They can't come! They're too young!"

"They'd be old enough to be reaped, Sweetheart," Haymich argued. "Besides, they volunteered. And we need all the manpower we can muster."

"Manpower? From _children_?" Katniss scoffed. "You're no better than Snow."

He grimaced ever-so-subtly at this statement, but did not retaliate. In a rush of guilt, Katniss instantly regretted saying it. But if anyone would get over it quickly, it would be Haymitch.

"Tell them to hurry up," he said simply. He, too, had slung his pack over his shoulder, and was following Johanna out the door.

Beetee seemed to be searching for something to comfort Katniss, but she was already storming towards the back room of the cabin. The only other room it housed, in fact. Upon throwing the door open, she discovered them both sitting thoughtfully on a pair of fecal-stained cushions, looking utterly horrified.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" she said roughly. "You can't come with us."

"They have Gale," Rory, the older of the two, protested. Though he was nearing the age of 16 now, Katniss could still remember when he was making mud pies.

"Yeah," Vick added. "We can't stand back and do nothing."

And Vick…little Vick. He had barely known his alphabet when she had first met Gale seven years prior. He had only been six years old.

"I'm sure your mother would have your necks – and mine – for this."

"Which is why we didn't tell her," Rory quipped.

"Right. And see? We have our own bows, now!" Vick declared, practically thrusting it into Katniss's face. "A gift from Haymitch!"

"Of course it would be from Haymitch," Katniss grumbled irritably. "How are you guys going to protect yourselves? Make sure you stay safe?"

"You've been teaching us to hunt for months," Rory reasoned. "You know we're good with a bow."

"When you're not running your mouths and scaring the game away," Katniss added impatiently.

"We can do this," Vick argued. "Please. We want to help find Gale."

Katniss considered this for a moment. If she was being completely honest with herself, she was in far too much a hurry to really think straight. And Haymitch was right – they were both old enough to be reaped if the games were still happening. And they had proven their proficiency with handling weapons. But the idea of it still gave her the chills.

"Fine," she muttered. "But you both stay close to me. You stay behind when I tell you to. And you do what I say. Neither of you would even know how to use those things if it weren't for me, so you need to follow my lead. Do you understand?"

Both nodded enthusiastically. She felt a sick panging in her stomach as their faces lit up. She hated the idea of them actually being anything close to _excited_ about this mission.

"Get your stuff," she said with a heavy sigh, "and let's go."


End file.
